Fidelio
by Oceanbourne
Summary: Tactics can only win so many battles. Faith can only unite so many people. Love can only mend so many hearts. But that enchanting melody... that might be different. M!Robin x ?, somewhere along the story.
1. Indoctrination

The epiphany that brought him out of his scheming dream state came at the same time as the first raindrop that crashed down from the sky. He shook off the sleep and tried to comprehend the thought that came to him: the rough outline of an overarching thesis linking Kierkan's stance on a market economy to the eighth chronicle of Alm the Conqueror's campaign in Valentia. Soon the second and third raindrop hit him, and by that time he had thrown the ephemeral idea out the window of his memory to recognize that it had begun raining, and a steady pace at that.

A soprano voice resonated through his mind, a piercing melody that further jolted him awake. Beauty came in endless forms, and he could vouch for its elegance, but it seemed so out of place that it only accentuated the problem.

When the sixth raindrop struck he had ascertained that he had come to in a peculiar position, namely stuffed between two burlap sacks in the back of a side alley, the cobblestone beneath him digging into his side. He shoved off the obstructions interfering with his path to open space and quickly stood up, dusting off the robes he did not recognize and finding a couple of books at his feet. The works of Kierkan and Alm that he had dreamt about? He figured he would look at them later, stuffing them under his arm and preparing to head out of the alley. At that point he had come to the startling realization that he did not remember anything outside the last two books he had read, drawing complete blanks when it came to his name, his location, or his business. But he couldn't ponder that problem for too long, as he began to hear the loud clamoring of voices coming from the street outside the alley. Enough raindrops had struck that he quickly caught on to the fact that the voices belonged to people also escaping the rain, and if he wanted to spend as little time as possible in the downpour, he would do well to get moving.

He made a bolt for the exit, listening to the murmurs of the crowd grow louder. Once he entered the street proper, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. Before him lay a great canal, with a couple of boats unluckily getting caught in the rain as the few crew aboard the vehicles paddled with all their might with wooden oars, sloshing through the water. He ran towards the wall that separated the street from the canal to get a closer look at the boats as they went by, glimpsing a couple of their names. Merric. Pride of Altea.

The names had given him the solution to one of his problems: he knew he had woken up in one of the towns of the halidom of Ylisse. That came as a relief; he would have much better chances figuring out where he should go in the peaceful kingdom rather than the aggressive theocratic state of Plegia, or the militant, rough-cultured land of Regna Ferox of the north. However, it did still did little to remedy his current situation, and he went back to work his way through the crowd that grew denser and denser. He hadn't thought about which way to head, but he figured that if he headed far enough, he'd find some place to find shelter in.

The street got narrower as he ran down a flight of steps as carefully as he could manage, with the rain making his descent slippery and the load of two tomes under his arm making maneuvering difficult. He could no longer avoid making contact with people as he weaved around the foot and occasional wagon traffic, trying to get himself ahead of the flow as the rain continued to pour down upon him. Many people on the street either had a hood to ward off the precipitation or rode in a wagon to shield themselves. He had no such luxury.

Moving became more difficult as the crowd got thicker around him, and he found more than a few stray elbows jab at him and a loose finger or two swipe at him as he shoved his way through the disorganized mess. An impatient, broad-shouldered man ran into him, and he staggered sideways trying to keep his balance when he heard the sound of brass making contact with the cobblestone street and a weight fall from his waist. Had he been carrying a weapon outside the sphere of his awareness? He had no time to dwell on the potential loss as the stream of commoners continued to mercilessly shove him along.

He switched his focus back to the street in front of him, or at least what he could make of it with the large white hull of the horse-drawn wagon in front of him. The welcoming sign of one of the town's inn hung in the distance, and he estimated that he would probably reach it in about a minute. Due to the naturally hospitable nature of inns, he didn't doubt that it had already started quickly filling up with peddlers and vagabonds and generally lost souls alike, but he wouldn't need to necessarily try to find a room there - just a dry roof under which to collect his thoughts.

A steady stream of travelers running from the rain began making its way towards the inn entrance, the double doors already propped open, and he joined the mix, getting in his own share of pushing and shoving while still securing the tomes in the crutch of his left arm. Fortunately the inn still had a little breathing room, although he would still have to deal with some undesirably close quarters. The diffusion of commoners began to spread out once they reached the common room, and he received some much needed relief once he got far enough away from other people that he could move his right arm away from his side. His first action was to secure one of the few vacant barstools towards the end of the counter.

The innkeeper had his hands quite full dealing with the influx of people, and even the dozen or so maids running around to assist him didn't make the load any lighter. Still, the amnesiac needed some respite of his own before settling down and actually working on putting together the hazy fragments of what he knew of himself. Reaching down into his pockets with his free arm, his fingers discovered a few round shapes that he then pulled out and set against the counter along with the tomes. Four gold pieces wouldn't amount to much, perhaps some of the low quality beer that taverns carried around for the really desperate, but he figured he'd fare better with a poor beverage than none at all. Rapping the wooden frame twice to call for one of the maids' attention, he repositioned himself on the stool and opened up the books to examine their contents in the meantime.

The smaller one read in a language he had trouble deciphering at first, but the strange letters began to make sense in his mind. He recognized it as the ancient language of Archanea, the continent of millenniums past that had since morphed into the present geography of the three kingdoms he knew today. The words spoke of calling down empyreal lightning upon the caster's foes and sending them bolting in fear underneath the booming stormcloud, making the identity of the tome obvious enough: a Thunder variant. The larger book had a leather buckle and an ornate cover, making him believe it to have greater significance. While the author had used the common dialect, they had written with a professional diction, and he vaguely recognized it as a description of the government structure within the Plegian theocracy. The page he had opened explained to him the means of succession for the office of bishops in the nation-state, citing a clearly hereditary lineage.

"What will it be, hon?" The sound of one of the waitresses alerted him out of his study, and he quickly closed the larger book and set it alongside the thunder tome. "Best make your order snappy, as you can tell, we've got our hands full today."

"Er, right." He racked his mind as he tried to cross the names of alcoholic beverages popping up in his mind with the plausible value that he could acquire with four gold coins. "Cornerstone, please."

"We'll be right with you," she told him as she turned back around to the bar storage, and he silently thanked whatever gods he believed in that his knowledge of beer, at the very least, had not left him.

He shifted his stool closer to the counter and moved his arm closer to the pair of books. If he had some knowledge of magecraft, he would do well to keep at least the Thunder tome with him. The one about Plegian religious hierarchy proved much less interesting, but he had a feeling he should probably hang onto it as well. He made sure to keep one hand on them as he scanned the perimeter, knowing that with crowded inns came a natural propensity for thieves to try their luck in pickpocketing a valuable or two. A wide age range of males comprised the majority of the inn's current population, stretching from the young twenties like he would guess for himself to the late forties, although he did spy a couple of husband and wife pairs and the occasional family.

His beer had arrived at the same time that the crowd had begun to quickly move away from the inn's entrance, where a group of larger men barged in. From his point of view, he couldn't discern the reason for the commotion, and he sipped curiously at his beverage as he watched one of the patrons fly across the room and collide his head with the edge of one of the round tables. Flashes of steel cut through his periphery, and he discovered that the newcomers bore axes. He set the glass down, cringing at the bitter taste of the lukewarm beer. Just his luck to go to the inn being targeted by a group of brigands.

He heard a shout of protest followed by the drawing of steel from leather from the other side of the bar. Someone else had come prepared to fight, and he could hear the sounds of a scuffle begin to develop. He gave another glance at the Thunder tome. It would probably make it easier for everyone if he helped the patrons getting into the fight. Or would it? He didn't know if his rather premature mental capacity could handle the concentration needed to wield a weapon of great potential destruction. Beginning to regret losing the other potential weapon he had on him during the rush of the crowd, he faltered in making a decision, focus shifting between the books and the increasing number of brigands sifting in.

A strained cry came from behind him. Whirling around in the stool, he saw that a couple of the bandits had come through an open window and had shoved an older man from his low seat on a bench, one of them going through his belongings in search of anything valuable. while the other held the threatening blade of his axe towards anyone who would try to defy them. The poor victim shivered in terror, hands raised protectively near his face as he trembled under the gaze of the robbers who held that whole sector of the inn hostage. He met the gaze of the middle-aged man for a second as the older peddler looked into his eyes for any sort of hope.

"There's nothing in this old man's bag besides junk!" the bandit grumbled to his partner.

It was as good of a signal as any. He flipped the tome open, turning it to some arbitrary page and muttering the words of the incantation under his breath, concentrating his focus on the brigand with his hands on the man's bag of valuables.

He didn't know what he expected. A golden bolt of energy materializing from his hand as he pointed it towards the brigand and consumed him in heated atmospheric pressure, bending the beam of light to his will as he administered justice to the wicked? Instead, his hands shook as they reacted to the power emanating from the tome, feeling a magnetic sphere of influence pushing him away before it projected itself away from him somewhat in the direction that he intended it to go, causing an explosion of bright light that he had to shield his eyes away from and producing a fair amount of recoil that he nearly fell off the barstool, catching himself with one hand just in time.

Where the pair of brigands had stood, he saw nothing but the ashen remains of the table upon which the middle-aged man had sat - fortunately, all its previous residents had backed away after the bandits made their entrance. The man remained on the floor, his jaw open and as wide as his eyes as he stared at the source of the uncalled blast of power, but otherwise unharmed. The peddler's possessions, which he identified as some raw pieces of clay, had suffered some damage to them, but he figured he hadn't completely destroyed them. Out of all the products he might have damaged, he considered himself lucky that he had only come across raw production materials. Miraculously, nothing had even caught on fire, a usual unwanted byproduct of a spontaneous lightning bolt reaction.

"That man at the bar!" he heard a deep voice call from the other side of the room. He whirled around to see a trio of people standing amidst the bodies of fallen brigands; they must have dispatched the main force while he carried on with his magical antics. In the center stood a blue-haired man, wearing a white cape over one of his shoulders that left the other forearm bare to expose… a tattoo? He carried a sword that signified some sort of nobility to him, as no common sellsword would carry a weapon with such an ornate hilt. A young blonde woman stood next to him, a bonnet covering the top of her head and two curly pigtails cascading down the sides. She carried a healer's staff and looked at him with a curious, if not mischievous, expression. The third person wore a full suit of light blue armor, his helmet removed and carried in the left arm to reveal a stern face with a messy mat of brown hair while he carried an imposing lance in the right. It didn't take a genius to figure which of the three had yelled and gotten his attention. Perhaps they had seen his display of magic and had come to thank him for cleaning up the other end of the fight?

"Look at his robes, milord!" the knight pointed out. "A Plegian mage, likely the ringleader of these barbarians!"

He barely had enough time to glance down at his apparel to see what about him had the knight so much in a fuss. Perhaps the robes did look out of place, looser than normal clothing, but he didn't see anything that out of place… until his eyes alighted on the emblem of Plegia on the side of his sleeve. A Plegian mage, was he? It brought up the question of why he had awoken in a Ylissean alley, but he had the strange gut feeling that he belonged in the halidom rather than in the oppressive desert. And he would have to convince them as well, for the two men had drawn their weapons again and began to walk towards him.

"Hold up a moment, I can explain things," he said, raising his arms away from his body in a conciliatory gesture, looking to the man whose life he just saved for some support. "He can attest, I attacked those brigands! Like many of the people here, I just came to the inn for some shelter from the rain."

The peddler did not act very convincingly. "What do you want from us, sorcerer?" So much for his attempt at generosity. Did all Ylisseans act so spiteful towards charitable acts?

"I'm no sorcerer!" he insisted. "I barely even remember who I am!" That got an interesting look out of the blue-haired swordsman, who took another step forward, close enough to reach out with his weapon and slice off his nose. Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

"You've lost your memory? A strange thing to claim, from a man wearing Plegian robes who has some control over thunder magic."

"I swear I had nothing to do with this bandit attack." He had already begun to run out of options. Perhaps he could grab hold of that waitress that gave him that drink, although he had a feeling that this little merry band of travelers wouldn't think much of any receipt of purchase he could procure to show them. "If I was really so involved, there would be no reason to draw attention to myself with a display of magic."

The knight frowned. "Something about his behavior feels too smug, milord. It's best if we take him into custody and bring him ba-"

"H-help!" The innkeeper came running back into the common room; he hadn't seen the stout man since he first walked in. "The wall in the back's sprung a leak! We need to stop it else the water will get in here and ruin our storage!"

"We'll help you!" chirped the blonde, and the swordsman and knight retained their suspicious look at him.

"Don't worry about keeping an eye on me. I'm going to help." They gave each other a look of silent consideration before nodding. The swordsman went to follow the blonde, and the knight pushed him along, staying behind him to ensure he didn't try to pull anything funny.

He could feel the effects of the water before even coming to the wall, noticing his boots splash against a shallow layer of water that filled the floor. The group came to the leak in question, a steady stream of water pouring from the gap and threatening to cross over the small partition leading to the inn's storage room, as the innkeeper had said. He noted the hole's dimensions, perhaps two feet by one and a half. The stream of water did not take up the entirety of the space, although if the storm persisted any longer it would increase the rate at which it flowed in and it could exponentially grow into a serious problem if not treated immediately.

"There's bound to be some loose material that we can use to patch the hole up," the knight suggested. "I will go around and ask if any of the patrons have any sorts of strong cloth or other material that can block it."

The swordsman picked up one of the loose stones lying on the ground. They had probably come loose from the wall when the hole was created. "Putting these back will probably help, too. If we fill up the gaps with any material that Frederick can find, it should make a good enough cover for now."

"No, this won't do." All three of them stared back at him as he walked closer to the source of the leak. He continued explaining. "You lack a cohesive mortar to fill the gaps between the stones. They fell out of the wall in the first place because that part didn't have the strength to hold back the water."

The knight, Frederick, had returned during the tail end of his explanation holding a couple of cloth towels. "Then I wouldn't suppose you had a better plan, Plegian?"

He cringed at the label, believing it completely false even though he had no way to do so. But if his words wouldn't convince them, maybe his actions could prove his good intentions. His thoughts turned back to the peddler that he had saved, remembering the contents of his bag and how he found it odd that a traveling merchant would have unfinished molds of clay with him that he couldn't sell.

"I do, in fact. Hold here for just a minute. In the meantime, we should start plugging up the hole with what we do have, namely the stones and cloth that you've gathered." He sped off to the far end of the bar, where he hoped the peddler remained. Fortunately for him, the man had stayed in the same position, idly talking to a couple of younger men when the amnesiac's loud footsteps got his attention.

"What do you want from me now, mage?" His dark eyes were lined with suspicion.

"It's a matter of utmost importance, I can assure you." He pointed to the bag slung over the peddler's back. "The material in your bag - the unsculpted clay. The innkeeper is in dire need of something that can plug up the hole in the wall. Even if you bear me no good will, at least do so for the sake of the establishment."

He held his stare for a couple more seconds before finally relenting, bringing the bag around from behind his shoulders and tossing the load over. The bag felt heavier than it looked. "Take what you must. I feel indebted to you only because you did save my life, but I want no more association with someone like you."

He didn't waste any time trying to decipher what the peddler could've meant as he headed back to the gap in the wall where the swordsman and the knight had worked on filling up the gap. Though they had the hole completely covered up, their efforts had done little to actually halt the water coming out.

"Here's some mortar that should be a lot more effective when we combine it with the stones that fell out," he announced, opening the bag and pulling out a lump of clay around the size of the wall, fairly soft and malleable. Pulling it apart with his hands, he moved over towards the hole and began pressing the clay into the small gaps that the irregular shape of the stones had left over, slowly but steadily imitating the structure of the wall around the hole.

"...I see the wisdom in your strategy," the knight admitted as he moved aside. "Are we still in need of the cloth, or should I dispose of them?"

"They'll still be useful. The clay should not make up the entirety of the barricades that we're using to stop the water. They're better off filling in the gaps that our materials leave open, because it makes our repairing of the wall all the more compact." He took one of the pieces of cloth from Frederick and jammed it into the remaining portion of the hole, taking the small lump of clay in his hands and pulling pieces off it to fit into the small cracks in the wall left. After a grimy session of fitting in as much clay into the small spots as he could, he eventually stepped back to admire his work.

"A thousand gratitudes for your help, milord," the innkeeper thanked him, bowing somewhat clumsily.

"You did a good job," the swordsman agreed. "I didn't expect a Plegian to be so knowledgeable about fixing water leaks."

Back to the mysterious point about his origins. "That's the thing. I'm confident I have nothing to do with the theocracy. I've felt like an Ylissean man for… well, I can't quite say it's my entire life. I have no recollection of who I am before the point where I awoke in one of those side alleys. I don't even know my name."

"Then how did you make that big bolt of lightning?" the girl asked. Big? Lightning? He was sure she had made some kind of exaggeration.

"I can't say. If I am a mage, then the knowledge of magic is something I probably know my instinct, like riding a bike would be. Either way, I'm fairly sure my understanding is little more than the basics."

"So you have no idea what you're doing here in Southtown," the swordsman provided. The name of the town did little to jog his memory.

"Not at all, Chrom." Where did that name come from? He took another look at the tattoo on the man's arm, recognizing it as the unique brand that each of the Hero-King's descendants bore on their body. The Mark of the Exalt.

All three seemed quite taken aback. "You… you know my name?" Chrom asked, bewildered.

"Tch!" the knight interjected. "The man is thinking to play us for quite the fools. If you have no ties to Plegia, as you say, and cannot remember what you are doing here so close to the capital, then how do you know my lord's name and not your own?"

He had no easy answer for that. "I have a basic understanding of the political setups in each kingdom and their respective rulers," he admitted. "I have never seen any member of the Ylissean royal family, but the brand is in plain sight for anyone to see, if one is learned enough to be aware of it. The late Ylissean king only had one son, so he must've been Chrom. That makes you" - he turned to the female, who looked at him expectantly - "Princess Lissa, and your elder sister the exalt Emmeryn." Perhaps he should have bowed in their presence, but it would only make submitting to them easier.

Lissa looked somewhat impressed. "That's… right. But it's really creepy that you know so much about us!"

Chrom raised a hand. "It's alright. It's not like our existence is exactly private knowledge. I suppose there's no need to introduce ourselves. We are the prince and princess of this realm - a title that I've never been comfortable with. The stern one is Sir Frederick."

Frederick gave no indication of acknowledging him. "You must understand that there is nothing good that can come out of associating with this man, sire."

"Maybe not, but we can't just leave someone without memories alone," Chrom argued. "If he does end up being affiliated with Plegia, then it's better that he's with us." He turned back to him. "I would assume you don't have any living arrangements, then."

"Not that I can recall."

"Then you should have no objections heading back with us to Ylisstol," Chrom told him. "While you were mostly right about us, there's one thing you should probably know." His face darkened as he looked like he had just recalled a particularly gruesome memory.

"Emm was… captured by a group of Plegian infiltrators while we were away," Lissa explained. "We had just heard about it, so we started making our way back home from the outlands. That puts my brother as the temporary acting exalt."

"You can understand how we don't take kindly to anyone related to Plegia," the prince said. "Frederick is wary enough as is, but given recent events, I'm surprised he didn't already try to run you through with a lance."

"The prospect was tempting, milord."

"Glad to know you think so much of me." He began to feel more and more uneasy being around this group, but he definitely preferred the plan of joining them than spending some more quality time in the alleys of Southtown.

"The circumstances of our meeting were quite strange, but I can tell you have some good intentions with you," Chrom admitted. "Your skill with solving problems is unusually adept. If you are not some rogue Plegian mage, at the very least, you probably spent some time at one of their academies."

"The only memories I have are waking up with some crazy theory from some old treatises in my head. If there was any connection to make to my previous life, I suppose it would be to reading," he agreed.

"That seems to be the case." Chrom turned to his sister and Frederick. "Well, we should be heading back home. I propose taking him to the castle, conducting some proper interrogations… and then figuring out what to do with you. Lissa?"

"Works for me!" the princess answered. "You have this aura around you that makes me really want to believe you, mister. So I hope you don't disappoint me!"

Frederick did not share her sentiments. "It is too dangerous to leave such a man to his own designs."

"It's settled then," the prince decided. "From now on you're with us, er… right. You said you haven't remembered your name."

It came to him like the final note to an unfinished symphony.

"Robin." How he could say it with absolute confidence was yet another mystery to add to his new life, but he felt the name would suit him.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, it's another one of those 'retell the story of Awakening' fanfics. There are some blatant deviants from the plot already, however: most importantly, Robin is rather self-aware of the world (it makes little sense for him to know magic but not the universe he's in). And there will be even more changes as the story goes on.

It was really tricky to think of a way to portray Chrom and co when they first meet Robin. I don't like the fact that Chrom basically wants to make him a Shepherd right after they pick him off the side of the road, so I have him take a much more skeptical approach to the problem of running into an amnesiac. In the canon story Chrom cites his older sister's benevolence as the reason for him being so trusting, so I decided I'd just take that away from the very start. Have him associate Robin with the people that are responsible for depriving him of his sister and see if he's still so generous after that.

also this is probably the worst time to start a large project considering it's only one month till Fates but this story idea was really bugging me and I couldn't not entertain it


	2. The Sound and the Fury

"...and that's why I can't bear even looking at snakes," Lissa concluded, shivering as she spoke the last word.

"It's perfectly reasonable to be afraid of snakes," Robin said. "A lot in the desert bear red and yellow markings, designed as warning signs to scare off predators. Eagles and owls and other birds of prey begin to recognize the patterns as indicators that those particular species are poisonous, and so they learn to avoid them."

"Huh, I didn't know that." The princess pushed herself up against the side of the wagon, stretching out her legs. "We don't see a lot of them in Ylisse."

"They're fairly common in Plegia, as you could've guessed." Robin had begun to recover parts of his memory, but all that came from facts he had probably learned from texts and manuals. Nothing in his personal life came back to enlighten him, except for a few mundane inclinations. "Humans fear snakes too because we know they're venomous, so we try to avoid them in case they lash out at us. The Plegians, who revere the serpent as a sign of Grima, are an exception. It might be a bit silly, but it's another reason why I don't think I'm a native Plegian - I dislike snakes as much as the next guy."

"It's not silly at all! The more you talk about yourself, the more you sound like the average person. Really different than the Plegians we've come to know."

"I would still advise you to refrain from speaking to this man any further," came Frederick's reproaching voice from the front of the wagon. The knight had chosen to guide the horses himself, setting his own mount next to the wagon to freely trot alongside it. With Chrom in the passenger's seat next to him, that left Robin and Lissa to sit in the wagon itself alongside several bags of supplies that the trio had brought from the outlands. While Frederick had protested that leaving him alone with the princess might result in him potentially harming her, Chrom was satisfied with taking away the Thunder tome, his only discernible weapon. Robin happily agreed to the terms - he had seen Frederick prepare a length of rope before they set out on the northroad and he would rather not travel to the capital with his hands tied.

"I don't know what your problem is, Frederick!" Lissa protested. "All he's doing is talking to me."

"Best we save the exchanging of words to the interrogation later," the brown-haired knight advised, "lest he corrupt your mind with innocent-sounding stories meant to capture your sympathy."

"You've been reading too many of Sumia's crime thriller novels." Lissa made a face that Frederick could not see and turned to face Robin. "Even if you are a Plegian spy, my fear of snakes would hardly be classified as a royal secret. So we're okay."

"All the same, you're taking this rather casually."

The blonde looked away for a second. "I just like talking to people. I've already gotten to know my brother and Frederick way more than I'd like to, so you were the only option left. Think of it as my own way of interrogation!"

Robin resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Moving on! Do you have any animals you do like?"

His lack of memory certainly didn't help him find an answer, but he did remember getting into the wagon and admiring the royal company's choice in steeds: upon asking Frederick, the stoic knight hesitantly informed him that they were Clydesdales, dark brown hides with occasional splotches of white and short moppish tails. The horses stood tall and stately, majestic to behold and eagerly responding to the knight's touch when they prepared to set out.

"...I suppose I admire horses," Robin said. "I don't know if I've ever ridden one. Probably not. But if I had the opportunity to get a mount I would probably pick a horse. They are quite… loyal."

The princess' features brightened. "Oh, yeah! I love horses! Ever since I was a little girl, I've always dreamed of riding out over the hills and vales on one. Chrom's not a big fan of them, but I have a friend, the daughter of one of the dukes, that comes to the capital a lot and teaches me horseback riding. Though I don't have one of my own yet…" She leaned closer to Robin, beckoning him to turn his ear. "Frederick thinks I'm too delicate."

The amnesiac chuckled. "He does seem like the overbearing type, but it's not like he's your caretaker or something. Did you never ask your parents to teach you horseback riding?"

Lissa's pained expression made it clear that he had touched upon a sensitive matter. "I… I can't remember anything about my parents. My mother died shortly after I was born. And my father… I don't know if you remember the war, but…"

"Oh. Right." Fifteen years ago, the last exalt of Ylisse had descended upon Plegia in a bloody war born out of madness and an unchecked hatred for the worshippers of Grima, the Grimleal. The two nations had never had good relations, but the arrival of blue and white soldiers from the halidom across Plegian borders had put the two nations in a state of enmity from which they had not completely recovered, even with the new exalt's peaceful ideologies. "I should have known…"

"It's alright, my problems with my memories are nothing compared to yours," Lissa said. "It does make us similar, doesn't it? Neither of us know anything about our parents."

Something told Robin that wasn't necessarily the case.

"Hey, look!" the princess exclaimed, nudging Robin to sit up and look towards the front of the wagon. "You can see the castle from here. We're almost home!"

"We just go down this hill and we'll be in Ylisstol," Chrom informed them from the head.

Robin moved a bag of steel cylinders out of the way to get a better view. The wagon had reached the top of a hill, thick layers of forest shrouded in shadow bordering the verdant green and waves of amber stretching out below them. A meandering footpath cut through the high grass and wheat fields to a tall fortified white wall in the distance, over which he could see the spires and roofs of the buildings in the capital, alabaster dimly shining in the moonlight. The lateness of the hour made it difficult to pick out the finer details in the Ylisstol skyline, but he could sense the grandeur of the capital emanating even from such a distance.

"We going to make it before midnight?" He didn't like the prospect of sleeping on the country roads, no matter how many weapons their group had.

"We should hurry if that's our intent," the prince answered, and Robin heard Frederick snap the reins, urging their horses on.

The snapping of a wooden projectile at the hull of the wagon tent immediately caught everyone's attention. Another struck the front, between the coach's seat and the horses, causing the latter to whinny in fright and break into a gallop. The momentum pulled the four travelers along with them, causing the wagon to pick up speed. _Archers_ , Robin guessed as he pulled himself up to get a feel for their rapidly changing surroundings.

"Bandits!" Chrom yelled over the braying of the animals and the shaking of their possessions while a third arrow broke through the beam connecting the wagon to the horses, freeing them from the harnesses and setting the vehicle on a wild course down the precarious slope. Robin quickly understood that the scenario had put him out of his element, and he could only look dumbly at Chrom and Frederick wondering if they had a plan.

"Can we slow this wagon down, Frederick?" the prince asked his retainer. Robin couldn't hear the knight's reply, but he did see Frederick gesture off to the side before leaping off the wagon, landing on a white blur that Robin recognized as his normal mount and tightly wrapping his legs around the horse's torso to keep his balance. He extended a hand to Chrom, who considered for a second before taking the jump as well, landing behind Frederick and gripping onto the knight's armor for dear life. Once he had stabilized, Chrom removed his scabbard, tossing it off onto the road and bringing out the legendary blade of House Ylisse.

Falchion.

He had no time to fully appreciate the sword's glow under the night sky as the wagon ran over a small rock on the path, bumping them around. He exchanged a look of terror and confusion with Lissa. "What should we do?" the princess asked him, clutching at her healing staff.

He groaned. The day only got harder and harder for him, but now it fell upon him to decide what to do, else they would meet their ends when the wagon inevitably crashed into the fields below, if the arrows from the bandits didn't give it to them beforehand. Robin climbed into the now vacant coach's seat, gesturing for Lissa to follow him. They wouldn't accomplish anything sitting in the back; jumping out that way basically meant giving themselves up to their pursuers. Robin proceeded to turn over the rest of the sacks in the front, hoping to find where Frederick had hidden his weapon, but could not find the tome. He hoped the knight happened to take it with him when they made their escape.

The sound of horses galloping came from either side of the wagon. Robin initially thought reinforcements had come from the castle to aid them, but a dangerously close jab of a lance near the front right wheel of the wagon told him otherwise. He grabbed the disjointed tip of a javelin near him and threw it in the direction of the lance, hoping to at least slow the upcoming rider down, if not outright trip his horse. They probably had another rider coming up on the other side, but Robin couldn't see them yet.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to use actual weapons, would you?" he gambled, pulling an axehead out of one of the bags, making sure he didn't slice his finger open on the blade.

"Me? Nuh-uh." Lissa shook her head. "Even if I wanted to, my brother and Frederick wouldn't let me near them."

Robin figured as much. Simply taking Lissa and jumping off the wagon wouldn't work, as even if he transitioned into a roll to ease the impact, it would still knock the wind out of them. Any bandits waiting along the road would find themselves a very inviting three-course meal in the form of their bruised bodies. The sound of iron striking iron tore him away from his thoughts, and he looked out the wagon to see Chrom and Frederick riding out to attack the archers that had plagued them, the prince swinging outwards with Falchion while keeping one arm on his retainer to balance him. Frederick wielded a sparkling silver lance, thrusting it into the shoulder of an axe-bearing bandit who couldn't lift up his weapon before the whirling blue tempest brought death upon him.

"You need a weapon, Robin!" Lissa said urgently, rummaging through the bags he had tossed aside. But the mage had his eyes glued to the battle roaring around him, catching a fleeting glance of a red blur speeding through the grass in the distance, lance held high as the rider jabbed at a couple of bandits. Both Frederick and this other cavalier had a disadvantage against the axe-wielding brigands, but they might as well have held swords the way they both handled themselves. He heard a frustrated scream on the other side of the wagon hull and then an anguished gurgle as the dull thump of an arrow embedded itself into the enemy cavalier's neck; it seemed reinforcements had come from the castle.

But that still didn't address the growing problem in front of Robin, namely the obstacle of getting Lissa and himself out of the wagon safely before it collided with the rock formation about three hundred yards in front of him. The mounted bandit on his left had caught up to them at this point, the dark-skinned man also wielding a lance. They certainly seemed dedicated to tracking down the runaway wagon. He wondered if Chrom had brought in any valuable goods from the country that the bandits wanted. Robin supposed that Lissa would count as one.

The cavalier had come close now, to where Robin could make out individual hairs in his mount's mane despite the darkness, and a plan formed in his mind, half out of sheer associative coincidence and half from desperation. "Lissa, you said you can ride horses, right?"

The princess looked completely confused. "Yeah, but I don't see how-"

"Then make sure you're ready to follow me and jump on that one!" he pointed, reaching for the nearest weapon from the containers around him - a short steel sword, that would do - and getting up, carefully maintaining his balance on the seat as the wagon drew nearer to the rider. The brigand jabbed at his legs, hoping to yank him off his precarious perch, but Robin took that moment to spring forward, throwing himself high at the bewildered rider and leaping at the horse. The bandit instinctively pulled back in surprise, but Robin had accounted for that and had deliberately angled his jump to overshoot the man's original position. _Predictable._

He didn't bother swinging the sword in mid-air, as it would probably have done more bad than good; instead, he collided hard with the enemy rider and the two fell to the ground, the momentum from the cart carrying over and causing them to roll over one another several times, dust kicking up from their landing on the road, and leaving Robin reeling once they had begun to slow down. His sword had fallen from his grip during their descent, a moment of panic setting in Robin's head. Fortunately he had the bandit's body to cushion his fall upon initial impact, so he figured his opponent would have it worse. By some remarkable feat of will the man still had the strength to swing his lance at Robin, but the longer weapon had the disadvantage in close quarters. He dodged the clumsy swing, rolling over and sitting up, looking for his dropped blade which lay in the grass a short distance away. Robin quickly scampered over to reclaim it.

The brigand had begun to get up, something Robin couldn't allow. If it ever came to proper single combat between them, the lance's longer length would render him unable to get close enough to get a strike in, so he only had a small window in time to make his move. Charging almost recklessly, Robin swung at the man, a vertical strike of desperation that the bandit barely parried. He still had the advantage if Robin tried to keep swinging at him, as the lance's superior size gave the man a larger window of defense. So Robin had to resort to playing dirty.

The bandit certainly hadn't expected the kick to the groin, but if Robin was being honest with himself, he didn't either. Still, he had no time to dwell on the permanent lack of honor he would have to live with as he slashed at the man's unarmored chest, kicking the lance away now that the man only had one hand to hold it, and unceremoniously put him to an end in a flurry of bloody stabbings. Robin only looked long enough to ensure the man died. Any further observance and he would probably vomit the already disgusting beer he had stomached earlier.

Incidentally, idly standing in hollow victory over a dead body took away the remainder of Robin's energy along with the adrenaline that flooded out of him like water breaking through a dam. He collapsed alongside the brigand's cadaver, with only the faint shouting of a certain princess indicating that he had done his job.

* * *

A couple of ivory keys broke the silence. Robin recognized the tone as pianissimo. He wondered where he remembered such a term, the conscious train of thought slowly but surely dragging Robin from his slumbering state. The rough feeling of his rear end uncomfortably jostled by the trotting of a horse provided a much ruder awakening. He felt a hard body directly in front of him, registering that he needed to lean on it for support, and when he tried to give himself some personal space he found his own body tied with a series of ropes to the other body, hands strapped to his sides and legs to the horse's side.

"What… huh? Gah!" The last exclamation came from another bump that hit Robin's leg hard. A very eloquent beginning to his newest revival from unconsciousness, he realized.

"It looks like the vagabond is awake." The body in front of him spoke with a heavy accent, definitely not something he recognized from any of the countries on Ylisse. Valm, perhaps? He hoped he had not passed out long enough to get that far.

"'Bout time," a coarse feminine voice answered.

"Hey, what gives? What's with all the ropes?" Robin had never felt so conflicted on wondering whether he wanted some wiggle room or not.

"My situation is no more comfortable than yours, my good sir," the rider of his horse said. "You would not budge from the ground, but my lord Chrom refused to let you go, and since we are suffering from a shortage of horses, we have no choice but to double up."

"That doesn't explain anything," Robin complained. "What's going on?"

"You're alright." He recognized Chrom's voice. At least had something to remember. "We're almost at the castle now. Took us a while with that unnecessary delay, but it looks like we're all in one piece. How you're feeling?"

"I almost wish the bandits had killed me."

"There's no time for self-pity." Oh, great, his favorite person. He didn't understand how Frederick and Chrom could've fought so comfortably on a horse: just riding with someone else was painful enough, but Robin figured neither of them had to deal with any rope.

"Yeah, besides, you saved me! It was a bit scary having to jump onto that horse, but if you could do it with the rider still on, then I had no right to be a coward!" Lissa had given him a compliment somewhere in there, Robin was sure.

"You did well, Robin." Chrom's voice did little to placate him, but he'd rather hear it over Frederick, Robin supposed. "Now look alive! We're finally at the gate."

Robin couldn't see anything, his sight severely blocked by the man in front of him, not that he bothered to try. He turned his face sideways, seeing Lissa to his left holding onto the crimson armor of a muscular knight with short hair that matched the armor. For a knight, they looked rather… Oh. Robin thanked whatever god he prayed to that he had caught his error before he spoke to them. He had a feeling that the woman would show him no mercy if he made the mistake of placing the wrong gender label on her.

"My lord Chrom!" a feminine voice greeted them as the doors to the castle separated with a groan. "What happened? You look hurt! We thought you were to ride back via wagon. Did something go wrong? Did highwaymen strike you? Bandits?"

"At ease, Cordelia," the prince assured their welcomer. "We just ran into a little trouble at the top of Lowell's hill. Had to give up the supply wagon, but we all got out alive, us and Frederick's horse, at least."

"I… see. And who are these men?" Robin knew she meant him, but she didn't appear to recognize the man in front of him either.

"Lords and ladies, your humble servant begs the honor of introducing yourself. I am of the noblest hunter's blood, the archest of archers, man of many myst-"

"His name's Virion, no idea how he got here. But he's alright in a fight, shoots arrows, the whole nine yards," the red-haired knight cut him off. Robin held back a groan. Of course he had the terrible luck of literally being saddled with the bumbling oaf.

"Do you know him, Sully?" Chrom asked.

"Not a clue," the female cavalier answered. "Ruffles over here insisted that he follow me when I rode out to welcome you, so I only brought him along so he would shut up."

"The guy tied to his back is Robin!" Lissa provided, dismounting off Sully's horse. "We found him in a tavern in Southtown." _I'll never have a good first impression with anyone, will I?_ "He doesn't remember who he is, what do they call those guys? Oh yeah, amnesiacs!"

"He only claims that," Frederick interrupted. "Look at his vestments, you can clearly see the Plegian emblem on them. Prince Chrom decided to take him back here for questioning."

"I'm inclined to believe he is actually what he says he is," Chrom offered. "He's shown good intentions so far, and I don't think one of Gangrel's hit men would help Lissa in the way he did…"

"Do I get a say in this?" While he appreciated Chrom putting in a good word for him, they all spoke of him like he didn't exist. And while he still couldn't separate himself from Virion's back, he still wanted the right to introduce himself. "My situation's a bit more complicated than that."

"You should hold your tongue," Cordelia chided him. "The Knight Lieutenant is right, we cannot prove that this man is not an informant for Plegia, especially after rudely interrupting the prince like that. A Ylissean man would surely show respect for his royalty."

He hated her already. And the sucking up to Chrom that she slathered on like marmalade on toast, Robin found utterly disgusting.

"It's alright, Cordelia. Well, Robin, now that you're awake, we can probably untie you, huh? I don't think Virion will want to drag you to your room as well," the prince said. Robin heard the sound of steps landing on stone and the movement of hands doing away at his bindings, starting from the legs up.

"H-his room?" Frederick interjected. "Aren't we locking him up in the cells for questioning?"

"I'm tired, he's tired, you're tired too, Frederick, even though you'll never admit it," Chrom answered wearily. "We save that for another day. And I think he's earned it, at least for tonight. He did manage to get Lissa out safely, something that we overlooked." Chrom had finished removing the ropes, although Robin still struggled to move thanks to his previous injuries and the soreness that he had gathered staying in one position for so long riding bareback on a horse, so when he tried to descend he had to lean heavily on Chrom. In the corner of his eye he saw an armored woman with long red hair and a lance scrutinize him with glaring daggers for eyes; she seemed rather annoyed at the thought of anyone presuming to come so close to the object of her obvious infatuation.

"Can you walk?" Chrom asked.

Robin grunted as he pushed himself off the prince, nodding as he steadied himself. "I'll be fine."

"Alright. Frederick will show you to your room." He turned to address the rest of the group. "We've all had a long day, I think it's long past time to turn in. Make sure you get some sleep, we'll be up early tomorrow to deal with our… new residents. That goes for you too, Cordelia. It's admirable that you keep volunteering for the night shift, but I understand from Phila that the pegasus knights rise at the break of dawn just like us. I can easily assign a regular guardsman to this slot."

The redhead's cheeks turned a faint shade of red. "I-it's no trouble, my prince. Honestly! I'm an early riser anyways, it doesn't bother me."

She didn't convince Robin at all, but Chrom seemed to take her explanation at face value. "Very well, then. If we don't have anything else to take care of, then I'm hitting the hay." He began to walk down one of the corridors in the hall, Lissa quickly tagging behind him.

"Do not trouble yourselves with my living arrangements," Virion announced to no one in particular. "I have long ago reserved a room at a nearby inn, but fear not, I shall come to see you all just as early on the morrow." He winked at Sully, who fortunately did not look in his direction quickly enough to spot the obscene gesture.

"Follow me, Robin," Frederick ordered. "The… guest quarters are this way. Good night, Lady Cordelia."

"Of course. Pleasant dreams, Sir Frederick." The shrew regarded Robin with one last look of cold hostility before heading for a staircase near the gate that led to the ramparts. He decided to block her out of his mind, already having enough worrying thoughts to deal with in one day. Perhaps a good night's rest would make things clearer in the morning.

* * *

It turned out he had fallen into one of those fatigued states that found even sleep too weary, and when he opened his eyes and looked out the window of the generously sized room that Frederick had shown him, he marveled that the sun had not risen yet.

Robin didn't feel sleepy at all - on the contrary, he felt quite awake, and deciding that he might as well fully awaken all his limbs, he dragged himself out of bed and towards the window, pushing the glass panes open and welcoming in the crisp autumn air. A bit too cold for his liking, but it did succeed in starting up the gears in his mind. He took in the beauty of the Ylissean inner courtyard, faint dewdrops glistening on the grass, and stared for a moment listening to the early morning concert of sparrows accompanied by the sound of gentle harpstrings.

Usually instruments played to him from the realm of illusions, but since Robin had already thoroughly shaken himself awake, he knew it had to come from somewhere. The sounds that greeted him in his imagination had bothered him enough. If he could discern the source, it would do a wonder on his sanity. Not bothering to change into the robes lying on the armchair that the maids must have brought in, Robin looked for his boots, muddied and worn from the previous day's travel, and headed into the corridor in his attempts to locate the harp.

The passageway outside his room ran down the perimeter of the courtyard, pillars supporting the archway every few feet. At the end of its length Robin found a square area, one corner of the courtyard with another passageway perpendicular to him on the right and a couple of narrow openings indicated by arches that went inside the palace. He found it empty except for a few stone benches and the instrument in question, leaning against one of the benches. And he couldn't believe who he found as its performer, sitting alongside it in a state of blissful tranquility.

Cordelia had her eyes closed and half turned away from Robin, who hid himself behind a pillar as he warily stuck his head out again, sure that his eyes had lied to him. But no, there the redhead sat, plucking an arpeggio, the notes taking off from her harp and soaring skyward, ascending in a spiral of profound elegance. He nearly fainted on the spot in his horror.

The melody stopped, and Robin froze, unsure if she had spotted him. Her continued silence indicated that she hadn't, and the amnesiac had decided to slip away quietly before she noticed. He would have to return to his room before Chrom - or worse, Frederick - found him missing, and putting the whole castle on alert for an unclean brown-haired man in Plegian robes was not Robin's idea of an ideal morning. So away he slinked off, until his careless footing betrayed him and the stumbling of his feet over the lengthy robes alerted the pegasus knight to his presence.

Robin immediately stopped thinking about the terror of Frederick finding him out here. _Cordelia_ finding him was infinitely worse. The heel of her boot pressed against his neck confirmed his suspicions.

"Mind explaining to me your business out here, Plegian?"

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm really off the story now. Cordelia's introduced a lot earlier than typical Awakening story, but we are aiming for different. Or rather, 'Fire Emblem: Robin's - Luck Preference Really Backfires On Him'

I also might need a beta reader to make sure that my veering away from the storyline still makes sense (among other things)


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